


Normal Coworkers Fight Over Coffee

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other, talon relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: When working for Talon, conflict with "coworkers" is hardly so simple. And there isn't even an HR department to help.(A series of short stories about different interactions within Talon. Mostly sticking to official characters.)





	1. Chapter 1

“This sort of thing is despicable. Skulking in shadows. It doesn’t suit us at all.”

“You’re the one who helped us get this far. Besides, it’s because of you that we’re doing this in the first place.”

“We should be able to do this freely, is all. Coercion only gets you biased results.” Crouched in the shadow of the rooftop’s corners, Moira O’Deorain stroked a small square in her hand with a single finger, watching the other buildings as her companion folded his arms. Despite the impressive strength of the sun, even at dusk, Reaper was still clad in his trademark black, faint shadowy wisps creeping off the edge of his silhouette before rushing back.

“Then you should have mentioned this earlier.” As always, it took little effort for Reaper to infuse his voice with dark menace, but this only prompted a light smile from Moira.

“And compromise my chance at accessing Asfour’s research? Never. I may be your associate now, Reaper, but I am still at heart a scientist.”

“You’re lucky Talon finds your pursuits worth the effort.”

“Yes, I’ve been quite lucky in a number of ways, haven’t I.” Moira stood, unfolding herself from her perch, and turned to follow Reaper’s gaze to the building across the street.

“Any reason we couldn’t simply use Sombra for this? Information extraction is more her specialty.”

“You were in the meeting. She has other assignments.” The word prompted a ‘tch’ of dismissal from Reaper, and Moira’s smile faded. “Besides, if something goes wrong, I’d like to have Asfour in custody anyway. A brilliant mind, that one. We could do…marvelous things.”

Reaper said nothing, but shook his head once as he watched the sun near the horizon. A moment of silence stretched out into a minute, then three—finally, he nodded once before stepping toward the edge of the roof. “Remember the plan.”

“Don’t let the rules constrain you, Reaper.” Moira allowed herself a quicksilver smile, earning another sharp glance from the expressionless mask, but leaned forward to focus on her target across the street as Reaper did the same.

“See you then.” Reaper said in acknowledgement, disappearing into a cloud of nanite smoke, and Moira herself leaned over the rooftop to disappear into nothingness. As she landed on the windowsill of the building opposite, she felt herself wavering over the edge just briefly, then latched onto the window itself with one hand and thrust herself inside.

Reaper’s job was to distract—despite his shadowy capabilities now, he was much more effective at causing a ruckus and getting people to look the wrong way while someone like herself (or Sombra, she admitted) did the real work. However, Moira had a strong suspicion that someone like Asfour wouldn’t be cowed easily, and their research was likely to be incomplete. She needed full results if she was to carry it further.

Still, the lab she first entered was empty, and she wondered regretfully if Reaper’s presence had been entirely superfluous. Placing the square in her hand atop the nearest computer terminal, she watched the lights flicker in recognition of the attempted access. Machines whirred in response to the unknown user, and Moira watched them as if they were ballerinas executing a maneuver. She could always see the elegant beauty in machines—Oasis had been such a prime example of their capabilities—but their inner workings eluded her. Sombra, bless her heart, had taken the time to try and explain the basics, but Moira simply hadn’t had the time. Humans had designed software to follow their rules, and it did, for the most part. It was a codified, simplified system, prioritizing the “clean” over the “dirty”. Sombra herself spent her time paring down information to its barest necessities, making everything smaller and smaller until it could barely be seen.

But humans themselves were hardly so efficient. Information in the animal kingdom did not take the form of code or syntax: it spiraled out, weaving in and among itself in recursive patterns so it could never be forgotten. Do you want to know your great-grandfather’s medical history? Or the likelihood you could develop a rare skin disease? Look only to the genome.

Moira tapped a fingernail against the terminal as she thought, her mind weaving through the different trails of thought just like the genomes she imagined, and finally she held her wrist up to her mouth to speak into a small communicator.

“Come to the top floor. If you haven’t run into any problems, we’ll just take Asfour and go.”

“There are problems.” Reaper graveled, the shock of a shot echoing through Moira’s earpiece. “Be ready.”

“Who—” A figure came through the doorway to stop in surprise, meeting Moira’s gaze with a hostile glare. “This is a private laboratory!”

“Science moves beyond the bounds of privacy.” Moira said, stepping forward before ducking into a low dodge and moving to the left of her new companion. Though they had pulled a gun from a hidden holster, Moira could see the tremble in their hands, and shrugged her own weapon into place before bringing up her hand and clenching a fist. Immediately, the other person dropped their gun to begin clawing at their wrists, starting a low keening as their discomfort grew.

“I’m sorry, Asfour. But opportunity presents itself in mysterious ways. Consider this a transformative experience.” Moving behind the other person, Moira wrapped an arm around their neck, halting the degenerative process before hearing another shot. A door at the end of the hallway opened to reveal Reaper, a body slumped against the wall behind him.

“Get the data. We’re taking them with us.” Moira nodded to the body in her arms, still conscious but barely struggling. Reaper approached wordlessly, but threw back his hood to let the shadows of his form gather around. Moira watched momentarily, confused, but then nodded in recognition.

With another shrug, she adjusted the setting of her biotic pack, and reached out to send the regenerative code through the tiny transmitters of the nanite swarm. The process was over quickly, especially considering Moira’s limited resources, and Reaper nodded in thanks as he strode into the room and plucked the square off the terminal.

“Can they travel?”

“We’ll need more time to prepare them fully. But we can go through the adjoining buildings and wait for extraction.” Moira nodded, retaining her grip on Asfour before releasing them to Reaper. “I’m faster. Let me make contact.”

Reaper simply nodded again in response, grabbing the now-woozy researcher by both arms before watching Moira disappear again. “Well, Asfour. Seems we have quite the journey ahead of us.”

In response, the researcher simply went unconscious, leaving Reaper to throw them over his shoulder and follow Moira into the shadows, leaving the lab just as they had found it—and no one the wiser as to their goals.


	2. Chapter 2

Hefting a small package in her hand, Widowmaker stared out at the quiet street before her, a wide-brimmed hat shielding her face from the sun. Though she hadn’t gone entirely incognito—she hadn’t used the makeup today, primarily, and she hadn’t opted for a headscarf—she still recognized the potential danger of wandering around too long in public. Her contact with Talon had been brief, just long enough to get the information about her next location, and now she was running on their timeline. However, her plane didn’t leave for almost 12 hours, leaving her with far too much time.

Talon apparently didn’t trust her to do her own research. Their information packages always contained the locations of ideal vantage points, and timelines for the targets. If she was working with someone else, maybe they’d need to have all this information. But Widowmaker knew her business. Rarely would she need more than one or two options. Especially for someone as low-profile as this—a pharmaceutical business owner, for God’s sake?—her approach would be simplicity itself. There wouldn’t be the level of security to justify sweeping the buildings. She could perch somewhere all week if she wanted, and never be disturbed.

Still, it wouldn’t do to be offended. Talon wanted to help her. She would help them, and they would help her. Simplicity itself. She’d report back to the ensemble later, bring some confirmation of her mission, and go back to her flat.

She followed a similar plan of approach now, in fact, returning to her temporary residence to pack and prepare herself for the flight. This time, she did use the makeup, watching herself transform from the bluish, cold-blooded killer she knew herself to be into the ghost of a woman she could barely remember. She could still remember all the colors: soft peach used to go well with her undertones, and a sharper bronze brought out her cheekbones. Sometimes she’d use the red, especially during the holidays, and the dark lipstick always looked good on her. It never detracted from the earrings or necklaces, either. There was an art to complementing yourself, organizing the colors and shapes in such a way that nothing stood out too much or too little. As she finished applying just the faintest line of eyeliner, Widowmaker sighed at herself and straightened, gathering her few bags and locking up her flat as she left.

The trip to the airport was uneventful in itself. Her credentials, as always, were impeccable, and even with her scarf in place, the security officers spent little time verifying her identity. As she came to the terminal, she was able to secure a seat for herself, keeping her bags close by while other passengers milled throughout the gates. Minute by minute, the departure time approached, but as Widowmaker glanced up to check the departure time once more, someone occupied the seat beside her, setting an all-too-familiar hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, Madame Troulliout.”

Widowmaker physically recoiled in shock, brushing the hand away before studying her new neighbor. The woman beside her was clad in a frilly white blouse, making her dark skin stand out in contrast, but something about her nose and the shape of her eyebrows made Widowmaker pause. A moment of silence stretched out, the other woman maintaining an easy smile, until finally Widowmaker sat up in surprise.

“You’re—”

“Gracia Carlyle. From Monte Carlo, remember?” The woman offered an easy laugh, her golden earrings catching the light, and Widowmaker wrinkled her nose in distaste before leaning in.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Sombra, this is—”

“Hey, it’s fine. Sorry they didn’t warn you. But I’m coming along.”

“But _why?_ ” Widowmaker hissed, offering a glare. “This is a simple operation—”

“Ah, no, none of that. No need to talk business, Annaliese.” Sombra—Gracia—shook her head, leaning back in the seat. “If you want to talk on the plane, we certainly can. But it’s not like you can stop me from coming with.”

Widowmaker ‘tch’ed in response, but said nothing further until the chimes sounded for boarding to begin. As they filed into the plane, Widowmaker noted with apprehension that Sombra had claimed the seat beside her. For a renowned hacker, such rearrangement of seats was probably child’s play, and Widowmaker tried to relax even as Sombra settled into the seat and sighed.

“So. You’re not doing this alone. That should cheer you up, eh?”

Widowmaker merely shook her head. “I do not need a babysitter.”

“That’s not why I’m here, Annaliese. The higher-ups didn’t necessarily send me because they mistrust you. I merely, ah…” Sombra shrugged, adjusting herself in her seat before glancing to the window. Surprised, Widowmaker straightened, trying to read the newfound tension in Sombra’s posture. “I assigned myself here. They do need information extraction, yes, so it’s not as if it’s a bad move, but I managed to pull some strings.”

 _Even Talon is sometimes unaware of her reach_ , thought Widowmaker.

“I needed a chance to get out! We don’t go into the field that often, and even then, it’s just my luck to be assigned with Vulpi or the twins—or, God forbid, _recruitment_.” Sombra shuddered, then offered an easy smile. “So I chose you.”

Widowmaker blinked, shocked into silence for the second time that day. Even as the chimes sounded for them to fasten their seatbelts and prepare for takeoff, she hesitated to respond, pressing herself into her seat with an unusual intensity.

Talon rarely expressed a personal interest in their operatives—people were tools, nothing less, nothing more. Widowmaker was an especially powerful tool, having been through the rigmarole of testing Talon had devised, but even she could one day become expendable. She had no personal interests of her own, no warring feuds, no personal vengeance. Any memories of her former self had become faint and ghost-like, feelings of regret or loss blurred by time and neurochemical interventions. Even now, she could retreat from her own anger and shock, noting with interest how truly angry Sombra’s intervention had made her, while still identifying the swell of hope that accompanied her irritation.

“I hope you have plans to entertain yourself.” She finally said quietly, pulling out a battered travel novel to avoid Sombra’s gaze. “I made no provisions for bringing you along.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I’m perfectly capable of providing my own entertainment.” Sombra allowed herself a faint laugh, prompting Widowmaker to foster her irritation while treasuring the sound.

Sombra had chosen to come along.

Perhaps, in this instance at least, Widowmaker would do her best to simply enjoy the company.


	3. Chapter 3

Yet again, as was their wont, the Talon operatives found themselves perched atop a roof, staring down at the buildings and streets below. Instead of adopting a ready position, however, Widowmaker sat crosslegged, her rifle held carelessly in her lap as she watched Reaper pace. Whatever airs of calm stoicism or dark menace he might portray in meetings, he was still so _tense_ , and the hours of waiting that surveillance demanded grated on him. Moira, for her part, stood beside Widowmaker, their easy, languid attention a stark contrast to the cloaked figure before them.

“You realize I can give you limited cover inside the building.” Widowmaker said, for what felt like the fifth time. Reaper, as he had the other four times, waved off her concerns and held a hand to his ear, theoretically adjusting the earpiece he held to listen for any updates.

“Ideally, you’ll be more help as we try to escape.” Moira noted wryly, drumming her fingers against each other. “And you’re a waypoint for Sombra to find.”

“True.” Widowmaker nodded. “At least I have a purpose.”

“As opposed to the rest of us?” Moira allowed herself a quick smile. “I suppose sitting here in the picturesque moonlight isn’t exactly in our job descriptions.”

“If she would simply patch us into their networks—” Reaper cut himself off, his complaints fading into a grumble. “She’s done this a thousand times.”

“Probably more. She doesn’t usually do con-current editing, though, she’s good at rewriting. After the fact.” Widowmaker shrugged, stretching out her legs to lean forward. “That kind of skill is helpful when we have you or Akande along.”

“What are you saying?” Reaper spun, meeting Widowmaker’s eyes.

“Calm down. I just mean that when it comes to stealth, you’re better at making noise than you are at suppressing it.”

“After all my work, too. It’s easier to repair the damage when there’s less of it to begin with.” Moira added, mirroring Widowmaker’s shrug.

“Misdirection is a vital part of espionage—”

“And Talon doesn’t want to give you clearance to blow up a building on the other side of town. That would be even better misdirection. So instead we merely sit here and wait, until Sombra can get the tapes looped properly and we get her go-ahead.” Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, getting to her feet as Reaper stood in silence. “Speak of the devil.”

A crackling static echoed over the comms, resolving into a series of rapid-fire voices in different languages. The three operatives stood, listening, until a pair of voices began to dominate the frequency and Reaper started in surprise.

“That’s--They’re speaking Spanish. I can—listen, they’ve got something bigger going on tonight, other plans—”

“Yes, _jefe_ , I can hear it too.” Sombra’s irritation was audible, her words clipped and sharp. “I’ll tell you what it means when they’re done.”

“I was just-“ Reaper tensed again, prompting Widowmaker to roll her eyes in irritation (pompous male ego, in her opinion), while Moira simply smiled and shook her head. Talon wasn’t exactly known for its “cooperative workplace environment”—but they did tend to recruit only the best.

“We have to go lower.” Sombra spoke again, a series of beeps echoing in the background. “There’s other levels, which I knew about, but they have different access areas and probably different clearance.”

“Is our entry point the same?”

“You still get to kick in the door, _jefe_ , yes. Let Moira meet me ahead. You keep them busy until we can get inside.”

“And me?” Widowmaker said, tapping the button to open her voice channel. “If you go lower, I can’t cover you.”

“You have to find us a different back door. Going lower means there’s more infrastructure, more pipes and wires to deal with. I could probably get out just fine, but we need to make sure the other two come along. Scout the area as best you can, and keep reporting to me.”

“She’ll report to _me_ , Sombra, I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the boss. Fine. Report to Reaper, and _he’ll_ report to me, and then I’ll get us out.”

“I don’t like all these changes.” Reaper graveled, prompting another exasperated sigh from Sombra.

“Then _you_ can do the hacking and the recon and all of this computer room scanning next time. If you want the bomb, you have to actually get to where they’re keeping it. And they’re keeping it underground.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Moira nodded, bringing her hands together before letting a stream of nanites trickle over her fingers. “If worst comes to worst, we can always improvise.”

After a moment of hesitation, Reaper finally nodded, looking down at the building before them before tapping his earpiece again. “You’ll hear us come in, Sombra. Be ready.”

“Ready when you are.”

“Good.” With a blur of motion, Reaper disappeared from the rooftop, followed quickly by Moira, to leave Widowmaker standing alone. A quick scan of her surroundings confirmed what she already knew (the two best access points were probably too far away to do her any good) and she took off running across the rooftops, leaping over smaller gaps and grappling to a reasonable distance before pulling up a map of the neighborhood.

Even if they managed to make a quiet escape, Widowmaker knew they’d need her to get them in the best position for the pickup. And considering the fact that they had Moira, Reaper, _and_ Sombra all in the same building, well…

Widowmaker found it highly unlikely that there would be anything ‘quiet’ about the rest of her evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read so far! I'm glad this has been up to snuff and at least somewhat entertaining. The bad guys are just so much more fun!


	4. Chapter 4

Talon usually prided itself on its secrecy. While being a fundamental founding principle of the organization, Reaper’s Blackwatch experience had also informed an institutional policy of misdirection and obscurity, meaning that voices were rarely raised above quiet mumbling even in the heart of Talon’s compounds. With such silent surroundings, then, a rush of shouting was immediately noticeable, drawing attention to a pair of individuals caught in a heated argument.

“You might think you know the full situation, Sombra, but there’s a reason we follow a chain of command—”

“Oh, because you have all the information? Here’s a little update, Reaper: you don’t. You never do.”

“Have you considered that there’s a reason for that? If I can accept my limitations, why can’t you?”

“I don’t _have_ limitations, boss man. I just have skills I haven’t practiced.”

“Sombra—”

“You two.” Despite his massive size—and the hulk of cybernetic material attached to his right shoulder—Akande Ogundimu stepped silently out of an adjoining hallway to stand before the two bickering Talon operatives, commanding their silence with his presence. A twitch of annoyance was just visible in Reaper’s stance before he turned to face Akande, his arms still folded from his previous argument.

“What is it.”

“Is there a reason you’re shouting across the entire compound? We don’t hire people just to hear them waste our time with arguments.”

“We need to do something about Sombra. She’s volatile, unpredictable, and uncontrollable. She’s a liability, not an asset.”

“I’m standing right here.” Sombra tossed her hair over her shoulder, nails glinting in the faint light. “If you don’t want to appreciate the independence of an ‘independent contractor’, then don’t bother recruiting me in the first place.”

“Trust me, if it had been my decision—”

“Reaper. Enough.” Akande reached out with his left hand to grasp Reaper’s shoulder. Even without the cybernetic enhancements, his hand was big enough to hide Reaper’s shoulder entirely, and it was only after a momentary hesitation that Reaper was able to shrug off the hand and slide past the larger man. As Reaper disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, Akande sighed, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of reconciliation.

“You shouldn’t give him too much trouble.”

“He’s losing usefulness. If he doesn’t accept that we’re not part of a ‘team’, that we don’t follow rules the way his old friends used to do, then he’ll never be any good.”

“Sombra. Please. He’s still an effective agent.”

“The only person he works well with is _Widowmaker_ , and that’s just because she doesn’t actually get angry at anything. Moira spent all that time working on him, Vulpi tried to interview him—”

“You can’t get upset with him for snapping at Vulpi. They barely know how to follow a single train of thought consistently.”

“That’s why I like Vulpi! Reaper’s too rigid! Too structured, too…” Sombra waved a hand, finally wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Organized?” Akande smiled to himself, walking down the hallway as Sombra began to follow. “He balances out your presence, if nothing else.”

“Then stop assigning me to missions with him.”

“You know that’s not entirely my call. You have as much say as he does.”

“Then who is the idiot who puts us together?”

“We don’t have what you might call a ‘wide pool’ of operatives, Sombra. You’re too useful for us not to send along.”

“I still think—”

“The two of you are pieces of iron.” Akande interrupted. “You grate against each other because you are very proficient people, very _intense_ people. If either of you were weaker, one would have collapsed already. The fact that you both continue to grate is an indication of your strength.”

“If he had collapsed, we’d all be better off.”

“I disagree. You see, it is only through that process, that collision, the clash of wills, that sharpens you further. If you had achieved all you ever wanted, and if all your fellow operatives accepted your opinions without questions, you would be bored. You are hardly the woman you were when you first joined us. You will continue to change while you remain with us. And though you may not believe it, Reaper himself is not the same as he was when he joined us. He has earned our respect, true, but he also had to learn how we operate. The two of you may never work smoothly together, but you can still be productive together.”

Sombra was quiet for a long moment, waiting until an automatic door admitted them both into a small, sunlit garden. “You’re too philosophical for your own good, _mi vato_.”

“That’s not possible. I produce my goodness through philosophy.”

“That is _exactly_ what I mean.” Sombra shook her head, running a hand through her hair as she sighed. “Would it be irresponsible of me to invite you out again tonight? I could complain about Widowmaker instead of Reaper, if you’d like.”

“And I would do my best to convince you of her wonderful qualities.” Akande finished, nodding. “Talon can survive without us for a night. I believe there’s an excellent place north of here—”

“Then it’s a plan.” Sombra nodded back, turning to walk through the automatic door. “Akande—thank you.”

“Whatever allows you to continue working with us.” Akande smiled as the door closed again, leaving him alone in the garden to study the light on the grass. Sombra was a good ally, and a good operative, whatever Reaper might think. She was strong enough to work on her own, to pursue the things that mattered. Talon, at least in Akande’s vision, could appreciate that. If the organization itself turned rotten, they needed to have people like Sombra, who could chart her own path and help rebuild. Akande could see himself in her, that fire of resilience. Yes, Sombra made an excellent ally.

And, when she was in a benevolent mood, she could genuinely be quite an excellent friend.


	5. Chapter 5

“You need to be more careful.”

“We only get stronger through adversity, Madam Doctor.”

“Yes, well, if you refuse to adapt the first time, natural selection is perfectly justified in pruning back your excesses.” Moira closed her hand in a fist, recalling the nanite swarm that had clustered around Doomfist’s shoulder. Above them, shots glinted and echoed through the warehouse, and the muffled screams of security guards could just barely be heard in the muffled _thumps_ of their takedowns. The few working lightbulbs had been either shot out or turned off, meaning that most shots went wild and missed entirely. The battle so far had been quick—hardly a battle, in Doomfist’s calcuations—but he’d still managed to encounter more than his fair share of near-misses.

“You refuse to wear the markers for Widowmaker—you can hardly blame her if she sends a bullet through your spine.” Shrugging her pack higher on her shoulders, Moira glanced out of their cover and nodded.

“I think I can manage.” Raising his wrist to his mouth, Doomfist turned his attention to the other operatives. “Sombra. I’m heading back in.”

“Got it.” With her acknowledgement, Doomfist leapt out of cover once more, specific overhead lights flashing as he moved through the warehouse. Without excessive enhancements, Doomfist required the lights in order to choose his targets, but with Sombra’s coordination, he could follow a seemingly random path through their targets. Having finished her attentions, Moira had already disappeared back into the shadows, following Reaper and Sombra to pull individuals away from the group and dispose of them.

Despite the noise of the security team, the Talon operatives themselves had little need to communicate. Reaper and Doomfist ended up facing the majority of the security team themselves, leaving Moira and Sombra to pick off the few stragglers that managed to escape. Widowmaker, when necessary, took down the few specialists angling to try and get off serious shots of their own. All in all, they fielded a full team—agile, adaptable, and competent.

As the Talon members moved forward, their advance slow but apparent, the security team grew more quiet, mimicking their opponents. The warehouse slipped into silence as well as darkness, the muffled sound of conflict dominating the scene, until finally the smack of a palm against metal made the security team stumble backwards.

“Fall back! We’ll hold from inside!”

As a unit, the team retreated, pulling Talon closer in before the team scattered and a huge metal door clanged shut. Taken aback, Doomfist pulled himself up short, leaving the other three members of the ground team to cluster behind him.

“Sombra.” Reaper barked automatically, prompting Doomfist to hold up a hand.

“It won’t be quick enough.”

“I can be quick, _amigo_ , just let me have access—”

“There’s more than just access. This is a drop door. Even if you got the electromagnets online, the weight of the door itself keeps it in place until they winch it up. We’re running out of time.”

“Then punch it.” Reaper shrugged. “That’s what you do.”

“There is more here than simply a door.” Doomfist narrowed his eyes, concentrating for a moment, and Reaper shook his head in consternation.

“Overcoming obstacles is your mantra, isn’t it? We overcome this one. We complete our task here. We go home with what we came for.”

“One shouldn’t exhaust themselves running into a trap. We leave. Now.” Turning on his heel, Doomfist readied himself to begin running, only to find Reaper standing in his way.

“There’s no evidence that this is a trap.”

“We have wasted too much time here. If they start identifying us, or collecting too much information, we have much more to lose than a few access codes and neural network plans.” Doomfist nodded, intensifying his glare in the near-darkness.

“A waste, then.” Moira said, her dry tone lending a dark resignation to the statement. “We should take our leave quickly.”

Reaper hesitated a moment longer, then nodded, relaxing his hold on his personal nanite cloud in order to disappear fully into the shadows. Moira, then Sombra, followed suit, leaving Doomfist to brace himself before leaping into the air. It was much easier leaving the warehouse than it had been to enter, and as the five team members regrouped in the shadows of an unused storefront, they stood in a rough circle to glance at each other. After recovering his breath, and gathering his thoughts, Doomfist stood taller to nod to each of them, adjusting the fasteners on his hand to stretch the articulated joints.

“We will make another attempt. Not now. And not with this team. But this episode is not finished.”

“It is not in our character to _flee_ , Doomfist.” Widowmaker reached up to remove her headpiece, holding the intricate goggle-like dome in her hands as she watched Doomfist respond.

“It is also not in our character to make a scene. The incident with…” Doomfist gestured to his namesake. “—the gauntlet was unusual, thanks to the location. Should we need to make similar raids, we will do so in the daylight. But considering the frustration with Volskaya, we cannot allow them to identify Sombra—”

“That is the least of your problems, _mi vato_.” Sombra shook her head, folding her arms. “I’m smart enough to know how to hide. These two are pretty noticeable.”

“—Or Reaper, or Widowmaker.” Doomfist nodded in deference. “That isn’t to say we did not do well. We simply did not succeed. Talon will want to reconsider our approach.”

Moira smiled, enjoying a private joke. “Next time, I’d prefer not to get my hands dirty. Leave me out of this.”

“With a team this size, we needed insurance. Your presence is a guarantee that we won’t lose anyone valuable.”

“I do what I can.” Despite herself, Moira preened under the faint praise, studying a nail with new intensity. For a moment, no one spoke, and finally Doomfist removed his gauntlet altogether to relax more fully.

“We’ll each move to different safe locations. Extraction will be different, since we don’t have the cargo we thought we would, but that doesn’t remove the need to stay secret. Security comes with secrecy.”

“I’m glad you remembered.” Reaper said, putting his hands on his hips before turning to go. Moira, too, left through the back door of the abandoned shop, but Sombra reached out to stop Widowmaker from leaving too quickly.

“How did you like the upgrades?” Sombra offered a grin, placing a hand on Widowmaker’s shoulder before tapping the headpiece. “I can make more calibrations, if you need.”

“They worked fine.” Widowmaker furrowed her brow, glancing to Sombra’s hand, but made no move to brush her off. “There’s a bit much, though.”

“A bit much?”

“I don’t need heartrates. And you added peripheries that I don’t need if—” Widowmaker hesitated, considering her words. “If Reaper and Doomfist do their jobs. I shouldn’t be in the midst of a firefight. I just need the one lens.”

“She’s simply planning for every eventuality.” Doomfist chimed in, setting his gauntlet on the counter before moving through the shop. “You’re perfectly capable in a fight yourself, Widowmaker. If you’d like, we could train you for firefights.”

“I’ll be fine.” Widowmaker nodded, looking back to Sombra before offering a small smile. “Thank you. It works fine.”

“I could work on it now, if you’d like. Work with the interface more.” Sombra offered. “Can’t have you getting distracted.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that.” Hefting her headpiece into a dark rucksack, Widowmaker pulled out a collection of clothing to begin the process of disguising herself. Leaving her to her movements, Sombra moved to the shop counter to sit atop it, glancing to where Doomfist—Akande, now—sat cross-legged on the floor.

After a few quiet minutes, Widowmaker stepped out of the shop to flee into the empty streets, and Doomfist raised one eyebrow as he looked to Sombra. For her part, the hacker merely shrugged, mirroring his inquisitive look.

“What?”

“It’s good to see that you don’t despise _all_ of your assigned teammates.” Akande noted, closing his eyes to take a deep breath in meditation.

“I don’t despise you.”

“You know what I meant. Would you prefer we assign you with Widowmaker more often?”

“Akande, please. I’m more than capable of assigning myself, should it come to that.”

“So it _hasn’t_ come to that yet.”

Sombra wrinkled her nose, trying to glare at Akande despite his closed eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Unless that performance was for my benefit, you enjoy Widowmaker’s company than the company of the other two. You can be frank with me, Sombra. Sensitivity hasn’t stopped you before.”

“What about it? Moira doesn’t like coming on missions anyway, and Reaper’s a stick in the mud. Widowmaker at least gets some satisfaction out of it.”

“Moira’s role is not necessarily to ‘babysit’ us on these trips. I regret how often we must force her into that position.” Akande shrugged, looking to Sombra once more. “And you know why Reaper does what he does.”

“His background is not an excuse to be—” Sombra took a sharp breath, cutting herself off. “Speaking of which, why does he back down to you so easily? You exchanged barely two sentences and he was following your lead. He needs me to submit a full report before he’ll even consider changing a plan.”

“Perhaps if your changes were not so obviously in the service of your own interests, he might consider them more readily.”

“Talon and I can have the same interests.”

“Yes, and I would hardly want to stifle your creative energies, but Reaper still concerns himself with the advancement of the organization. He enjoys the structure. As I keep saying, that does not make him a bad person. It simply makes him different.” Sombra rolled her eyes, but said nothing to contradict him.

“Speaking of which—” Akande continued. “—you could also consider complimenting teammates other than Widowmaker. Moira may not respond overtly to gratitude, but she still serves as your medic. A ‘thank you’ would hardly come amiss.”

“We’re _teammates_ , not drinking buddies.”

“I’m not saying you should pause a fight to have a heart-to-heart, but acknowledging the skills of your teammates goes a long way. If you recognize Reaper’s good qualities, he might be inclined to consider yours.”

Sombra sighed aloud, hopping down off the counter to dust herself off. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

“And Sombra—” Akande said. “—If you’d like me to assign Widowmaker to a technical checkup when we return to the compound, you have only to say the word.”

Speechless, Sombra merely stared at him, turning to gather her own small bag of belongings before exiting the shop. Still on the floor, Akande began to chuckle, devolving into a full belly laugh as he shook his head in amusement.

Even if Sombra was a wild card, and far too unpredictable for Reaper’s tastes, she was still only human. The least Talon could do—through Akande, of course—would be to recognize that side of her. And who knew? Perhaps pursing closeness with another operative would encourage her to invest more fully in a team.

Only time would truly tell.


	6. Chapter 6

With a click, the grappling hook uncoupled from the gutter above, letting Widowmaker drop onto the balcony with only a quiet snap of her shoes on the concrete. Despite the importance of the mission, she still assessed her surroundings in the few moments she had—featureless gray apartment buildings, sturdy but unimaginative iron railings on empty balconies—and straightened to consider herself in the glass of the balcony door. She could see nothing inside on an initial visual scan, and ended up only staring at herself in the glass, prompting her to lower the infrared goggles to do another sweep. This time, a single human form was visible, outlined against the vaguest form of a couch.

Moving slowly, but deliberately, Widowmaker moved to the door handle and slipped a strip of metal into the lock mechanism, feeling as centimeter by centimeter, the lock began to give and the door began to slide open. Stepping inside, then pulling the door closed behind her, Widowmaker pulled her rifle out from the holster on her back and moved further into the apartment, keeping her infrared goggles up until she turned into the room where her target sat, a single light illuminating his book.

As she put the goggles back up, the target sat up in surprise, his eyes meeting hers as the goggles retracted. Widowmaker squared her shoulders, feeling just the faintest hint of adrenaline in her system (hardly enough to matter, but it was still something) as she stared him down.

“They sent you again.”

“They wanted to make sure you stay out of the way.” Widowmaker kept her rifle at her hip, but turned it slightly to aim at the man in the chair. “Can’t have you interfering.”

“Ah. A shame. I suppose I have no choice but to remain here, as I was. However will I cope.” Despite his even tone, the man couldn’t resist raising a teasing eyebrow, finally leaning back in his chair to offer an easy smile. “It’s good of you to come, Widowmaker.”

“As long as you understand, Hanzo.” Widowmaker found herself smiling faintly, lowering her rifle once more before leaning against the doorframe. “I didn’t know you were in Morocco until I received the assignment.”

“I’ll send a card next time.” Hanzo shrugged, pushing his book away on the small end table. “There’s quite a few groups that need security. Some of them might actually recognize me. But the pay is decent.”

“Decent? And they leave you in a place like this?” Widowmaker made a face, gesturing to the cramped apartment. “How do you expect to do anything here?”

“I’m not hosting any galas soon. I don’t need much space.”

“Still, considering your history, you deserve more.”

“I don’t deserve anything more than this.” Hanzo’s smile faded, and he sat up to study her more closely as he thought. “Are you going to repeat the recruitment pitch? You were rather enthusiastic about it last time.”

“Last time, they thought you’d be a useful asset. They didn’t give me any instructions about recruitment this time.” Widowmaker shrugged, lowering her rifle to the ground in order to lean against the wall and fold her arms. “I could give you the information you need, though. You have many goals, and we could help realize them.”

“My goals are my own. I don’t need someone else to help me accomplish them.”

“A shame. I know quite a few members who would love to work with you.” Widowmaker sighed, feeling the sting on her wrist that signaled an incoming message. Raising her wrist to her face, she squinted at the tiny display available, then rolled her eyes and let her arm fall to her side. Hanzo raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair again, and finally nodded to her wrist.

“Is that one of those members?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s. Well, she’s the reason I’m here to keep you busy. She was afraid of finding you hiding around the corner, waiting for her.”

“Not a fighter, then, this one?”

“Not exactly. She’s…unconventional.” Widowmaker shrugged, trying to find a way to categorize Sombra. Unconventional, certainly. Reckless, too. But her utter disdain for authority gave her an air of freedom, of excitement—sensations now foreign to Widowmaker herself. “We’ve been trying some things.”

Hanzo furrowed his brows in interest, steepling his fingers. “This sounds more involved than a mere assignment-duty roster arrangement. Tell me more.”

“You don’t need to know.” Widowmaker waved him off, but looked back to find the man leaning forward in his chair. “Hanzo?”

“I want to know.”

“You gossip.”

“Have you seen me associate with anyone besides the one who signs my checks? I don’t have the chance to gossip.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“If she makes you grimace like that, she must matter somewhat. Go on. Explain.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, but finally relented, tilting her head back against the wall to think. “She’s been friendly of late. Very friendly. Overly friendly.”

“And you have to let her down easy?”

“Not…exactly.” Widowmaker shifted her weight, still trying to find the right words to explain. “She’s a teammate. A fellow operative. Associating with her in my free time might not be wise.”

“Talon can’t be _that_ involved, surely, as to monitor your free time.”

“It’s not Talon I’m worried about.”

Hanzo waited a moment, allowing them to think, then finally stood to catch Widowmaker’s attention again. Widowmaker scrambled to attention, thinking for a brief moment how she’d explain how Hanzo had potentially gotten the drop on her, but he merely folded his arms to stand across from her.

“Are you worried about her?”

Widowmaker blinked, surprised by the question. She prepared to scoff, dismissing the question entirely, but the intensity of Hanzo’s gaze made her reconsider. “I don’t think she understands what she wants.”

“What do you think she wants?”

“She wants me. In some measure. She’s amusing, in her own way, but I doubt she’d want anything serious. Her work is too important for that.”

Hanzo nodded, stroking his chin briefly to think. “You don’t need to entertain her. That’s not your role.”

“But.” Widowmaker paused, taking a deep breath. “I…like the attention. She’s good. Maybe not for me, but for someone.”

Hanzo waited a long moment, letting the apartment fall into silence, then moved to walk through the doorway beside Widowmaker. Standing to attention, Widowmaker moved to follow, watching as Hanzo found a teapot and began to boil water, working in silence until the different items were ready.

“I’m not the best person to offer advice on this. I only know you, and even that is limited. I think you’d be perfectly placed to interact with someone that way—whether a relationship, or merely friendship. You’d make an excellent friend. But you shouldn’t assume too much about how someone will be.”

“You know nothing about what could happen.”

“Neither do you.” Hanzo pointed out, folding his arms to lean back against the counter. “Listen, neither of us are in conventional positions. We’re hired assassins. I doubt you’d be able to find this situation addressed by a relationship blog-author. Either you get closer to her, and things go well, or you get closer with her and things don’t go well.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, watching as Hanzo poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip. “You said nothing new.”

“Was it any good?”

Reluctantly, Widowmaker allowed herself a curt nod. “I suppose.”

“There you go. As long as you talk to her about things, there shouldn’t be an issue.”

Widowmaker nodded again, running a finger along the seam of her rifle before blinking. “I was married once. To a man. We wanted to have children. Someday.”

Hanzo merely blinked, taking another sip of tea before clearing his throat. “I’m…sorry?”

“Don’t be. He’s dead now.” Widowmaker felt the words leaving her almost without her knowledge, the information blurted out without reflection. She could feel Hanzo’s eyes on her, his curiosity, his _pity_ , and any minute now would come the questions—

“Am I allowed to leave the apartment? You just have to maintain surveillance of me, right?”

“I can’t let you leave the apartment. Sorry.” Widowmaker tried to offer a conciliatory smile, unsure of what his response indicated.

“A shame. I’ll just have to find good enough entertainment in here.” After pouring another cup of tea, Hanzo moved closer to push it towards Widowmaker. “Here.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Take it. I’ll be right back.” True enough, Hanzo moved past her to disappear into the other room once more, and Widowmaker carefully took a sip of the hot tea while he returned to open a small laptop. With a few keystrokes, and the transfer of the display to a wall-projected screen, Hanzo pulled up a film to bathe the main room in bluish light.

“Have a seat. I’ve been lacking in my responsibilities as a host, lately. I’m out of practice.” Hanzo nodded to a barstool, arranging the laptop to the side while reclaiming his original cup of tea. “I had a brother. Once. He didn’t usually come to me with things, but he’d take the tea. Sometimes it’s not worth it to talk about things, but the tea is always worth it.”

Widowmaker nodded, taking another sip, and waited while Hanzo queued the film, letting it run through a title sequence and cast list. Despite her confusion, she had to admit the tea was nice. Spicy, yes, and a bit stronger than she might have liked, but it was pleasingly warm through her throat. She couldn’t exactly explain why she’d told him so much—or what she expected him to do—but she could feel the tension in her chest easing ever-so-slightly.

She wasn’t conventional. “Conventional” didn’t apply to anything in her life, anymore. But if she could just have enough people like Hanzo, or hell, if she could just manage to hold _onto_ Hanzo long enough, then perhaps a lack of convention wasn’t so bad.

If she could manage to get a friend in the kind of life she led, then perhaps other friendships—or something greater—wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has gotten so Spiderbyte oriented! It's a ship with lots of potential, but I don't know that I'm qualified to handle it well. So it goes.


	7. Trial by Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit longer than other chapters, so just a warning.

In the clean, tiled hallway, a blonde woman moved between the storage closets facing each other, mumbling to herself in apparent irritation as cleaning supplies and toilet paper fell from her arms. Even in the largest of industrial conglomerates, there still was a need for someone to monitor bathrooms and refill the toilet paper rolls, and so she’d been stuck here, next to the rock bottom of the building. It was hardly glamorous, and more than once she’d regretted her chosen profession. Still, as she turned inside the closets to put away her supplies, her mumbling took a different direction, and she lowered her voice to nearly sub-vocal levels for her pickup to hear.

“Aren’t you free yet?”

“I am _working_ , my dear snow rabbit. You make it look so easy—I must put forth some effort to find you.”

“I’m _waiting_.” Sombra let a bite of true irritation—not her feigned, cleaning-lady sighs—snap into her tone, and she shoved a roll of toilet paper back on the shelf as the channel shifted. “Vulpi’s dragging their feet.”

“It’s Vulpi. We planned for that.” Reaper’s gravelly tone echoed in her earpiece and Sombra wrinkled her nose, locking the storage closet behind her as she began to walk back down the hallway.

“Hurry up. We’ll start without you.” Sombra subvocalized to Vulpi again, slipping her shoes off to leave her in the thin, barely visible toe shoes that allowed her to creep down the tile hallway almost silently. The clunkier tennis shoes she ditched in a mail incinerator, conveniently located on this level, and her wig and overshirt soon followed as she brushed off any stray specks. Activating the invisibility threads (well, the ‘visual redirection threads’, but it served to make her invisible) would take up a lot of energy, but if she moved slowly, she could remain undetected until she reached the building’s inner security sanctum. She could hear vague chatter on the channels as Vulpi moved, their channel still open as they moved through the upper levels.

It was slow going for Sombra, but patience was a virtue in her line of work. Waiting beside the security door was a new challenge, since the hallway was especially narrow there. Since it was the end of the working day, as soon as the last group of day shift guards moved through the secure doors Sombra slipped through the open gap, feeling the usual rush of adrenaline as she entered the chamber. The new shift was arriving, of course—no meaningful corporation would allow their building to remain unattended—but they’d take their time to settle in. While they checked their IDs, Sombra could slip beneath their entry codes and let Reaper in through the back door, giving him access to the heart of the laboratory and the contact lists kept on file.

As Sombra worked, plugged into a makeshift terminal of her own make, she felt a sudden rush of air as a figure appeared behind her, the whoosh of air making her tense. Hands settled on her shoulders as hot breath tickled her ear, and Sombra jerked away as her comrade grinned.

“I thought you were supposed to be stealthy, Vulpi.”

“I thought you were supposed to be hidden, little fox.” Vulpi pulled away, dropping into a crouch beside Sombra’s position. Tall, with sharp, angular features, Vulpi could have passed as one of Moira’s siblings had it not been for their shock of dark hair and deeper accent. As much as Sombra appreciated the other operative’s free spirit, at times like this she understood Reaper’s irritation, and she glanced down to find her invisibility fading.

“Damn.” Sombra cursed, cueing up the pickup again. “Vulpi’s moving in, Reaper. You should have access.”

“Acknowledged.” Reaper said curtly, leaving Sombra to continue scanning the systems. Vulpi said nothing, but merely nodded before disappearing into the shadows of the security room again. At the center of the room, the night shift was settling into their chairs, and Sombra withdrew further to let her threads recharge. She was vulnerable if she was spotted—she’d had to leave her weapons behind, and had only gotten this terminal in by disguising it as a phone. If she’d been alone, it would have been less risky, but they needed Reaper and Vulpi to deal with anyone in the lab.

And, in fairness, Talon had reason not to trust Sombra if she was working alone.

Smiling at the web of trust, contracts, and obligations, Sombra tweaked her threads to bring her back to low-visibility, the edge of her image fading out again, but before the threads could ramp up to full power, a powerful arm grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked back.

“Here.” Cold metal, powerfully strong, clamped around her neck as she was dragged forward.  Sombra gasped despite herself, feeling her airway closed off, and reached up to try and find a grip on the arm holding her.

“Oh, no, none of that.” The voice was deep, harsh, biting her like the sting of winter wind. It was undoubtedly an Omnic, that much was certain, but Sombra couldn’t even make contact with the circuits of its arm before her hand was wrenched back by the omnic’s free hand. With surprising, painful speed, it pulled her hand down and back until a shock of pain ran up her arm, the nerves shouting in ways she hadn’t felt for years.

“So _there’s_ the rat.” The security chief, standing now in the center of the security team, watched the omnic move forward as Sombra began to struggle. Even her attempts to relocate weren’t working—some kind of dampening system? A redirection of energy? “We saw you come in, you know. We’re not sure how you rewove the system, but it was a treat to watch you work. Pretending like we couldn’t even see you. You know, we could offer you a deal—nothing major, really, but I’m sure the CEO would love to learn about all the trapdoors and openings we have. You could teach us about our own systems.”

Sombra said nothing. If nothing else, Talon had convinced her of the advantages of keeping quiet in the face of pressure.

“Leniency is uncalled for.” The omnic intoned again, shivering as its internal components rearranged somehow. “I will escort her into custody.”

“You can’t go alone. We’ll give you two non-omnic backup, just in case—“

“My systems have been insulated against her exact kind of interference. The risk of her escape is next to zero.”

“Let’s ensure that it’s zero, then, by sending backup.” The chief reiterated, glaring above Sombra’s head at the omnic. Sombra tried not to smile, but moved as slowly as possible to let her remaining free hand explore the lower torso of the omnic holding her. Apparently there were fractures in this operation’s security. Nothing enough for her to exploit, yet, but this omnic wasn’t part of the normal security. The chief was pulling rank. Her mind racing, Sombra found the slightest hairline crack under the thick jacket of the omnic, and just as she prepared to slice through with a fingernail, a boom echoed out from an adjoining hallway.

Heads snapped in unison as a dark form leapt through the doors, and a sudden burst of pistol fire followed the form as Vulpi landed atop the security computer banks.

“You know, everyone here needs a nice vacation. You all are _far_ too tense.” With a teasing grin, Vulpi dashed forward to grab the arm of the nearest security guard, his gun clattering to the floor as Vulpi jabbed a hand into his sternum. The shock of shotgun blasts made some of the guards freeze in indecision, but the chief reacted more quickly, drawing a fine energy pistol to aim at the new opponent. For the first time in her life, Sombra smiled to see Reaper striding in, his jacket absorbing the single energy shot with impressive speed and minimal impact. Despite the appearance of other Talon operatives, however, Sombra felt no change in the omnic’s iron grip, and as the guards fell upon Reaper and Vulpi, the omnic turned to drag her towards another door. Its huge form now blocked her vision, and she began struggling in earnest, finally slipping her fingernail in the crack she’d found to twist violently.

The virus was sluggish, delayed by the layers and layers of security programs in its way. She couldn’t maintain contact long enough to watch it work, but the omnic jerked enough for her to pry her way out of its grip. It would have been best to cut and run, call the mission a failure, but this was the fourth of an already unimpressive run of attempts on this corporation. Their security was obviously being strengthened—a failure here might mean that Talon never got another chance to get the information out. Cursing again under her breath, Sombra turned to face the omnic, finally getting a good look at her captor in the reddish light as alarms began to sound.

As she’d felt, it was tall. Thickly built, like an American quarterback, and a cluster of four dots to serve as eyes. Its coat and slacks were obviously a human affectation, probably given to it by the company who’d wanted it to match its normal security guards, but the coat already had a slit or two from Sombra’s earlier efforts. Doing away with the formality, the omnic ripped the coat off to let its fragments fall, revealing a chest that writhed and churned with moving metal parts.

She’d never seen an omnic like this. There was far too much information, all at once. And Talon had had no warning? No idea that omnics like this were possible? Was—No. No time for questions now. The thing was obviously strong, and fast, and Sombra found she had to leap to the side as the omnic charged. Metal cascaded down its arms like dominoes falling, and as Sombra skidded around a computer bank, she saw steel silvery projections growing on its hands.

“You are a whole _barrel_ of fun, aren’t you.” Sombra muttered to herself, backing away as the omnic gathered speed again. It leapt at her, but instead of moving back, she stepped forward inside its range of movement to slam a palm against its upper arm. With its superior strength, she was clearly outgunned, but if she could outmaneuver it, she still had a chance. It seemed likely that it was ordered to take her alive—no one had seemed eager to kill her, anyway—but the omnic clearly knew how to administer pain, and she would want to avoid that if possible.

She could feel her virus still crawling through its systems. The resistance was tough, and she reconfigured on the fly, ducking beneath another swinging arm to dart around behind the omnic. Now that it had removed its coat, it was easier for her to make contact, dipping in here and there to add directions and incentives to her own program.

Despite the noise of the security guards and Reaper’s shotguns, Sombra noted the absolute silence of her own opponent. There were no roars of anger, no shouts of pain as the virus chewed at internal programs, merely the dark blue glare of the visual nodes. The threat of pain, or death, was always a concern for Sombra, but here, the dynamic model of the omnic itself gave her opportunities. It had been able to reconfigure its arms at will, meaning that it was flexible. But a multitude of purposes also meant there were many openings for reconfiguration. And any opening was enough for Sombra.

In her darting, dancing whirl, Sombra smiled grimly to herself, releasing another virus to attack the main motivators of the omnic brain. She’d been lucky so far, dodging the swipes and lunges of her large opponent, and she could finally see one leg falter as a virus dodged the internal firewalls and broke through to the direction systems.

The omnic stumbled, moving to headbutt her, and Sombra ducked down to see its arms swing overhead again. This time, the projections on its hands had extended into dangerously sharp spikes, gauntlets more like swords than any kind of brass knuckles. Overconfident thanks to the success of her single virus, Sombra darted closer to strengthen the protocols, hoping that her single incursion would be enough to cripple the omnic for good.

Although she’d been counting on its lack of maneuverability to undo the advantage of its range, the omnic had been busy reconfiguring itself further. As Sombra reached for its chest, the metal shimmered and faded, making her fall forward as her hand was pulled into the churning mass. A sudden pressure against her back forced the air from her lungs, and Sombra could feel two sharp stabs of pain just beneath her shoulder blades as the omnic began to fall back.

Two blasts overwhelmed her hearing, and Sombra ducked her head as she gasped. The noise she’d blocked out for so long now disappeared in a flash, and she tried not to panic in the vital moments as she worked to free her hand from the omnic’s chest. A few adjustments were enough to give her room to pull away, but the pressure against her back never let up, and another shockwave to her side made her waver in surprise as noise slowly began to return. The omnic was no longer moving, but someone was pulling at her arm, a figure guiding her out of the omnic’s deathgrip to grip her shoulders.

“Sombra. Light of my life, darling desert kitten—“ Vulpi was pushing her hair back from her face, cupping her cheeks in both of their large hands. Sombra shook her head, grimacing at Vulpi’s pet names, and tried to ignore the ringing in her ears.

“I can’t—“ As she took a breath, the pain in her back stabbed through her again, and she resisted the urge to gasp. Gasping would only make it worse.

“Cover our exit.” Reaper said from behind her, and she realized belatedly that it was Reaper’s hands on her shoulders tugging her back. Vulpi nodded, surprisingly silent, and turned back to face the gaggle of remaining guards scrambling for their comms. She turned to see Reaper, his hand still on her shoulder, and as she stumbled forward, he reached down to lift Sombra and carry her in both arms.

“ _Vete a la mierda, cabrón—“_ Sombra did gasp this time, her pain only gathering strength as it insisted on her attention. She tried to escape Reaper’s grip, but the pain was more powerful.

“We’ll move faster this way.” Reaper was terse, slamming open the hallway door before attempting a run. “I still need you to get us out, and we can’t leave Vulpi. Stay awake.”

“I’m not going to pass out, _hijo de p_ —“ Instead of finishing her curse, Sombra shuddered, grabbing Reaper’s shoulder as a wave of pain rushed through her again.

“You should already have biotic thread working, closing the wounds. We’ll have someone take a closer look when we get back, but you won’t die.” Reaper said, earning another glare from Sombra. As if it wasn’t enough for him to be _carrying_ her, now he had to explain her own mortality like a child? She knew she was fine. The pain would pass quickly.

There was only a single security door in their way, Sombra overriding the priorities to let Reaper burst outside into the deepening twilight. After a heartbeat of indecision, he adjusted his grip on her legs and began to sprint into the alleyways.

Each movement now brought Sombra a new wave of sharp pain, and she concentrated on not groaning as Reaper moved. As they darted through right turns and back streets, Sombra felt her head begin to swim. Finally, Reaper slowed to a halt, dropping into a crouch to let Sombra stand.

Her stand didn’t last long, and Sombra soon sat in an undignified heap as she caught her breath. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, their heavy breathing filling the small alcove, until finally Sombra reached back to find her wounds.

“He didn’t get anything vital.” She said, having to take a shallow breath every few words. “I thought they were longer—I’m lucky he didn’t go any deeper.”

Reaper merely grunted, clasping his own torso to probe wounds there. Sombra would later blame her blood loss and wooziness, but she finally realized for the first time that Reaper had dark stains on his chest, deep entry wounds that looked less like bullet holes and more like—

“He got you too?” She finally said, blinking in surprise. “I didn’t see you.”

“Shut up.” Reaper said, fading even further into the darkness. Sombra nodded, feeling her head wobble dangerously, and finally had the bright idea to tap her subvocal pickup to try and figure out the next step.

“Extraction’s coming.” She managed, changing channels to hear Vulpi’s movement. “Vulpi?”

“Oh, I’ll find you.” Despite their light tone, Sombra could hear the intensity behind it, and blinked in surprise. The operatives sank back into silence, the noise of the city beginning to rise around them as Sombra listened, and she finally sat up more fully to look to Reaper.

“How’d he get you, though? I almost had him, until—“

“I said, _shut up_.” Reaper insisted. His intensity nearly won out until he began to waver, and Sombra reached out to place a hand against his shoulder to prop him upright.

“I didn’t know you could bleed.”

“Usually I fade before anything makes contact.” Reaper took another ragged breath, keeping pressure against his wounds. “I didn’t, this time.”

“That was stupid.” Sombra noted bluntly, still staring at the wounds. “And I thought you were, um. You know. The smart one.”

“Apparently not _always_.” Reaper retorted. It was his turn to gasp now, visibly shuddering in the darkness. From the shadows, Vulpi too stepped forward, and Sombra stared up at them as she tried to process.

“You two need more care than you’re getting now.” Vulpi tutted, crouching in front of Reaper to peel off his armor. Reaper feebly tried to brush Vulpi away, but Vulpi barely noticed the interference, pulling the vest away to study the angry roiling mass where nanites swarmed around bare skin. “At least you’re not bleeding.”

“You _ran_ here.” Sombra said in accusation, realizing the breadth of Reaper’s stupidity. “You got stabbed and then you _ran here_. Idiot.”

“That’s not the half of it, dearest rain drop.” Vulpi explained, pulling out a small white square from Reaper’s belt and unfolding it before placing it against the wound. “He only got stabbed because he thought it would be cool to jump in front of a homicidal omnic as it tried to kill _you_.”

“But he—“ Sombra hesitated, watching Vulpi apply another white square before watching them examine her own wounds. She forced herself to think back, to replay the incident—

There had been that pressure, forcing her back. And the blasts beside her ears—shotguns. Reaper’s muffled, but still powerful shotguns. And the blades hadn’t hit anything vital.

“You pushed me. And you didn’t fade in time because you couldn’t, because if you had faded—“

“If I had faded like I usually do, then my body mass wouldn’t have done any good in stopping the blades.” Reaper finally said, his tone weary.

“If you’re expecting an award, _dorogoi_ , you’ll have to petition Talon long and hard. I don’t think they even give out medals.” Vulpi said, their attempt at light-hearted banter tinged with a strange calm. Sombra grimaced as Vulpi applied other bandages to her wounds, their long fingers smoothing the adhesive patches in quick movements. “If you’d like to pass out now, I think I can manage to get you into the car. It might do you good to take a little nap.”

Reaper hissed audibly, obviously preparing to reprimand Vulpi’s flippant tone, but said nothing as he pressed his arm against the squares on his chest. Sombra followed Vulpi’s advice as much as she could, closing her eyes to try and avoid fainting altogether, and as Vulpi reached up to support her, she leaned into the support. The arrival of their extraction contact was quiet, noneventful, and as Sombra settled into the infinitely more comfortable seat of the car, she closed her eyes to think.

They had a long drive back to the Talon compound. She could afford to sleep. But despite the pressure of fatigue and the wooziness still circling, she couldn’t sleep just yet.

She had to figure out just why Reaper would bother to save her life.

+++

Fortunately, Talon was not an organization that skimped on medical facilities, and Sombra found that a few injections of micro-morphine went a long way in clearing her head. The omnic on duty was hardly the talkative sort, and she was grateful as he silently went about the business of removing her shirt, cleaning the wounds as necessary, and applying the synthskin.

“It’ll itch for a while. Check back with me in a few days to make sure it’s integrating properly, and see me sooner if the pain doesn’t resolve.” Patting her shoulder in a belated attempt at ‘bedside manner’, the omnic led her back out to the main medical center, letting her wait on an elevated table while he applied the final layer of stimulating gel. Sombra cursed internally, thinking of how long she’d have to wait until the skin healed properly, and looked up to find Reaper waiting on the table across from her. Sure, the medical center wasn’t _that_ big—but certainly there was some trick of Fate conspiring to have them both here at the same time.

“I. Um. Thank you.” Sombra said quickly, swinging her legs off the side of the table. “I didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You got _stabbed_. Someone should mention something.”

Reaper merely shrugged, but Sombra could see the sudden tension as the movement shot pain through him once more. Sure, for Reaper, a wound like his wasn’t life-threatening. Very few things were truly ‘life-threatening’ for Reaper anymore, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. And he’d done that for….what? To make sure they could get out safely? Reaper could have extracted Vulpi, even if they left Sombra behind. Did he have orders from Talon? Talon would have been happy to cut her off, but maybe there were concerns about security risks. She could have revealed a lot to the police, if she’d been taken. But somehow, she doubted Reaper had considered all these risks and problems before moving to protect her. Akande was the one who prioritized and sorted. Reaper simply acted.

“Ah! You both look so much better, darling comrades.” In triumphant return, Vulpi strode through the medical center doors, smiling to Sombra and Reaper in turn. Without saying anything further, Reaper simply stepped down from his table and left through the open door, leaving Vulpi to move to Sombra. “I mean that. It’s much nicer seeing you awake, bright eyed, bushy tailed. I’m glad.”

Despite herself, Sombra grinned at the compliment, shivering as the omnic medic buttoned up her med-center shirt at the back. “And it was a success?”

“I can confidently report that Talon is _very_ pleased with the information we’ve extracted. I didn’t mention the security incident in detail, but I leave that up to you.” Vulpi bowed, echoing Moira’s pretentious posing, and Sombra laughed aloud.

“Do they know about Reaper—I mean, how long he’ll take to recover?”

“Dear Doctor Moira will work her magic, I’m sure. I told them he was injured, but again—no details.” Vulpi’s smile faded, and they folded their hands behind their back to study Sombra more closely. “Is everything okay? You were rather shaken last night. For good reason. You usually don’t go to the fights.”

“Only since joining Talon.” Sombra sighed, kicking her legs out again. “I just…don’t know. Reaper doesn’t like me. I don’t especially like him. He leads most of the missions, since that’s his job, but I didn’t think….”

“It surprised me too.” Vulpi shrugged. “But I’m not complaining. It saved you. And maybe he doesn’t entirely dislike you. Even so, there’s a difference between disliking someone, and wanting to see them dead.”

Sombra made no reply, but moved to stand as the medic omnic handed her a small case of bluish pills. “For pain. Only take them as needed.”

“Sure.” Sombra nodded absently, walking out of the medical center with Vulpi by her side. Neither operative spoke, their own thoughts kept quietly in their own heads, and finally Sombra sighed again. “Would you have risked yourself like that? For me, or another agent?”

In a rare expression of vulnerability, Vulpi flushed, squaring their shoulders before shaking their head. “I can’t say I would. I’d do what I could, of course—what Talon wanted—but that sort of…that’s not me. It’s not in my nature.”

Sombra quieted, finally moving forward to raise a hand in farewell. “If anyone asks, I’ll draw up a report. And I need to speak to Maxmillian.”

“Not Akande?”

“Not yet. Max—well, just let him know.” She offered a final smile, disappearing into an offshoot hallway. “No starting fights, Vulpi!”

Vulpi waited, realizing that she’d just assigned them her secretarial duties (‘I need to speak to Maxmillian’? They weren’t some errand boy!) and breaking out in a laugh. Even confused, unsettled, and still recovering, Sombra was as resilient as ever. Vulpi was merely glad they weren’t in Reaper’s position. Soon enough, Sombra’s probing gaze would find Reaper in earnest.

Vulpi only wished they would be allowed to see the fallout.

+++

The recovery process was less than fun, but Sombra found that it gave her several free hours to work on her own projects, researching and detailing the omnic she’d faced in the security center. Maxmillian, despite his omnic connections, had offered no information, and Sombra had been left to fume in her own irritation as she tried not to scratch her healing wounds. Fortunately, she’d found that the medic omnic was far more witty than she’d given him credit for, and she’d made it a personal goal to hear him laugh someday. She’d had time to work on her own report of the “security incident”, and had done her best to include just enough information without leaving anything out that would make Talon ask awkward questions. Still, she had time of her own to waste exploring the Talon compound, and it was a usually quiet afternoon when she broke into an empty conference room, surprised to find a figure seated at the end of the table adjusting the holographic settings. In the darkness, it took her a moment to recognize Reaper, but she slowly closed the door behind her and pulled out a chair to watch the holograms dance.

“Sombra.” There was no question nor accusation in the word, but Sombra tensed all the same.

“I submitted my report. About the incident.” Sombra hated herself for using the euphemism, but it was easier than saying “the time you got stabbed”. “Did they ask you for one?”

“I’ve submitted it.” Reaper said shortly, reaching out to adjust the hologram in front of him. “I always submit one.”

“Okay. I guess that was obvious. I just—“ Sombra sat up, plugging her own jack into the table to pull up a small hologram. Reaper twitched in annoyance, but said nothing, watching the miniature Sombra move. “I only said that you got injured. I didn’t put specifics. Just in case you didn’t want them to…know.”

“To know what?”

“You saved my life. You almost sacrificed yourself. That was…unusual.”

“Not that unusual.”

“But you _hate_ me. You don’t even like working with me normally.”

“You don’t like working with anyone, period.” Reaper pointed out, zooming out of his hologram to display a huge hospital building. “I simply acted as necessary to preserve the integrity of the team.”

“You _saved my life_.” Sombra repeated, flicking a nail over the table. “Apparently you don’t think that’s a big deal.”

“It’s—“ Reaper hesitated, then reconfigured the map in front of him. As the mini-Sombra dashed around, she wandered through the hallways and corners, following an unknown path. “You think I wouldn’t have saved your life before the incident?”

“I didn’t think about it. But I wouldn’t have assumed it.”

Reaper collapsed the map again, letting the mini-Sombra run free. “I take responsibility for my team, Sombra. That means I make the entry plans, I develop the extraction plans, and I watch their backs. We _all_ watch each other’s backs. I don’t care at this point what everyone else does. But I have a duty to my team, and that means I protect them.”

Sombra sat back, surprised firstly by Reaper’s honesty and secondly by the ramifications of his admission. “So you don’t have a secret admiration of me that led to your ‘get down Mister President’ move back there?”

Reaper ‘tch’ed in irritation, yanking his hand back from the table. “If I led my team based on how I felt about them, I wouldn’t work in a team. I’m not an idealist—no team is going to work perfectly—but Talon prefers us to work together, and I tend to agree with the others. If you had gone in alone, you would be dead or spilling Talon secrets in custody by now. Sentiment doesn’t play a part in it.”

Sombra wanted to laugh, to brush him off again, but she merely stood to recall her holographic self. Thinking carefully, she adjusted her sleeves self-consciously and finally nodded.

“I’m glad you were leading us there, then.”

Reaper rolled his eyes (or made the head-motion equivalent: it was hard to tell with the mask) and began to turn away, but the lack of a teasing grin or laugher from Sombra made him pause. “You realize that having you _and_ Vulpi on the same team is a version of purgatory for me, right?”

“And you still came anyway.” Sombra nodded. “I’m not saying you’re the greatest. You’re not even in my top ten. But…for what it’s worth, it’s good to have you in a pinch. Thank you for being there. For doing what you did.”

Reaper waited a moment, resting a hand against the now-inert tabletop. “You’re welcome. And you’re not that bad, sometimes. You’ve proven yourself in a fight.”

“More than Moira, you mean?” This time, Sombra did laugh, turning away. “Don’t hate Vulpi too much. They gave us the stitch-skin at the crucial moment. _And_ they wrote the full report so you didn’t have to.”

Reaper merely grunted as Sombra left the conference room again, the door clicking shut behind her. Shoving her hands in her pockets, Sombra continued her wandering through the compound, trying to determine her next target. Still, she had to admit, Reaper wasn’t _always_ as bad as she made him out to be, even to Akande. And she’d just proved that he could be civil sometimes.

If she wasn’t careful, she might actually end up _liking_ the man.


	8. Chapter 8

Though Reaper was more than familiar with the scope of Talon’s espionage and combat components, there existed within the organization entire sectors of which he was only vaguely aware—insights into politics, medicine, astronomy, robotics, even production. Each piece fitted into another in some minor way, contributing to the machinery of the underground organization, but he recognized when he was out of his depth. He would never be called upon to organize a line of asteroid-combing robots, thus he didn’t waste the time researching them. Even Blackwatch had espoused this kind of approach, to a smaller extent, and Reaper had changed little about his approach between the two organizations.

With the attitudes of the old organization had come some of the old staff, as well, which meant Reaper encountered more than his fair share of familiar faces. The incident around Blackwatch’s disorganization had thrust him into direct contact with the scientific/medical branch of the still-developing Talon, and formed him into the _creature_ he was today, but he still felt a certain unease around the medical facility. Searching out Moira, then, required him to venture into the very heart of the compound section he knew the least about and was least comfortable with.

In the interest of maintaining a somewhat familiar relationship with the woman to whom he owed his very existence, Reaper nonetheless pushed himself to enter the facility she had claimed from the first day, walking into the cleanly sterile laboratory before searching for the medic. Fortunately, a dearth of Talon research staff meant that Moira had free rein in the laboratory itself, and her height made her immediately visible beside a computer bank and terminal.

“Moira.”

“Ah! Reaper. A pleasure, I’m sure.” Moira turned with an elegant grace, her movements echoing the tilt and angle of the robotic arms along the laboratory walls. Even at this distance, Reaper could feel his irritation rising at having to look _up_ at her, and did his best to shove the sensation away to avoid dwelling on it.

“I thought I’d check in. As a member of the team, it’s important that you’re capable of action at any time.”

“I thought you understood that my presence on a ‘team’ was limited, Reaper.” Her tone was harsh, but she retained a light smile, and Reaper remembered how many groups and teams and ethics committees she’d faced in her time. She was less an iceberg, hardly a mountain—she was a scalpel, carving forward regardless of the impediments in her way. And all with that razor-thin smile.

“As a member of Talon, your presence is useful. Your capabilities as a medic alone—”

“I am here because Talon funds my research. Should Talon refuse to do so, I would find new methods of funding. Unless Talon takes it upon themselves to assassinate me.” Moira raised an eyebrow, turning back to check the readout on the computer terminal. “I would recommend against that option, by the way. I know too much about your recruitment methods.”

“You haven’t been involved with every operative here, Moira.”

“No, but I have been involved with operatives that matter. What would you do, Reyes, if Talon tossed me out into the cold?”

Reaper stared, feeling his discomfort prickle against his skin. This hadn’t been a meeting intended to make her angry. Moira was especially good at holding grudges. “Is your research at least useful?”

“If it’s results you’re asking for, then of course.” Moira tilted her head, studying Reaper for a long moment before offering a more genuine smile. “You haven’t been by for a checkup lately. There’s much more I could do with your condition.”

“I’m fine.” Reaper waved away her concern. “I wanted to ask about Widowmaker. And Sombra, if it comes to it.”

“Sombra isn’t one of mine. Although the data I get from her is promising. Look.” Moira pulled a tall stool closer to the computer bank, pulling the terminal forward on a hinged arm to display a row of numbers. “She claims she hasn’t changed that much, but the repeated entry into…well, she doesn’t have a name for it, but ‘data-form’ matches close enough, don’t you think? The time she spends in there means that her body isn’t under physical stresses. The ‘data’ contained there doesn’t degrade in the same way. Now, physics isn’t my exact specialty, but if there’s a difference in energy consumption between the two forms, there’s a chance for extending the utility of physical objects—or combating entropy, if it comes to it.”

“I see.” Head swimming, Reaper managed a knowing nod. “Is this what you do in here?”

“Sombra’s merely a hobby. A side project, if that. She’s so _secretive_ about her data…anyway. Widowmaker. Was there a concern I should know about?”

“No, not exactly. I just wondered if she’d seen you recently. Like you said, you perform the necessary checkups…gather your data, that sort of thing. Have you?”

“From her?” Moira’s smile widened, and she leaned forward to put a hand to her chin. “Reaper, you could talk to her yourself, you know.”

“You don’t have the same ethical limitations a normal medic would have. Is she fit to fight?”

“Fighting’s fine. She’s always ‘fit to fight’. I don’t know what she spends her days doing, however, so you can’t accost her so aggressively in her own lab.”

“I am _not_ —” Reaper tensed, shaking his head. “This isn’t an accusation.”

“Of course not. But you only ever visit when you want something.”

“ _Moira_ , you chase us out for distracting you if we try and learn anything more. You can’t blame me for not visiting when you expressly forbit people from ‘visiting’.”

“You do make a point.” Moira nodded, pulling the terminal back to secure it to the wall once more. “Are you saying you actually are interested in my work?”

“Listen, it’s not my area.”

“But it keeps you alive.”

“In a sense.” Reaper shrugged, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders. “I have a duty to the team. To Talon. And you are crucial to both the well-being of the team and the goals of Talon. So, in both those aims, you are worth some investment.”

Moira stared at Reaper for a moment, her gaze calm and even. “Is your investment in Widowmaker also for Talon’s aims?”

“My investment in Widowmaker is because she’s saved my life. Too, that is. She’s good in the field. And I need her functional.”

“ _Ah_.” Moira nodded quickly, sitting up. “You’re not asking for a physical profile. You want the psych evaluation.”

Reaper hesitated, but offered a curt nod. “If that’s something you can provide.”

“It’s not anything I’m trained in. But people tend to be… _communicative_ with their medical providers.” Moira shook her head, making a face Reaper couldn’t identify. “Widowmaker’s fine in that sense too. She won’t be the life of the party, but she hardly has a life of her own anymore. That’s what Talon wanted, and that’s what they have.”

Reaper nodded slowly, backing away to find a table to rest against. “Akande might have a different perspective on that.”

“Akande has many interesting ideas, some of which I find impractical.” Moira shrugged. “I would repeat, however, if you want to learn about Widowmaker, the woman isn’t mute. You could speak with her yourself.”

“Asking someone to evaluate themselves is hardly worthwhile. You should know that, in your field.”

“I’m not going to make Widowmaker have a heart-to-heart with me. She’s the least likely in your group to admit anything, first of all, and I’m hardly the person to ‘chat’ with.” Moira moved forward to stand again, stretching onto her tiptoes. “I don’t ‘chat’.”

Reaper watched her for a long moment, thinking to himself. “Do you like anyone here, Moira?”

“That’s such a subjective term.”

“But you know what it means.”

Moira paused, pursing her lips. “I like some of you. Sombra’s entertaining. And Akande tries.”

“So you don’t like me.”

“I wasn’t under the impression that you wanted to be _liked_ , Reaper. You are a being of shadow and darkness, carrying out the orders of your dark masters in the cover of night.” Moira allowed herself a short laugh, folding her arms. “You do not lend yourself to being ‘liked’.”

“We may not have to like each other, but we still work together. We need to find some way—”

“Reaper, please. If it bothers you that much, then fine: you’re a perfectly fine leader. I _like_ when we’re on a mission together. You’re brusque, and arrogant, and you don’t always listen to input, but you get the job done. I can appreciate that.”

“Oh.” Reaper found himself taken aback, his head spinning now from the emotional whiplash than from any technical jargon. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Moira bowed her head, turning back to her terminals. “Now, unless you have a more pressing concern, I have results to compile.”

“Updating my psychiatric profile?” Reaper allowed himself a touch of humor, folding his arms to watch Moira work.

“Nothing so mundane.” Moira waved a hand in dismissal, but smiled despite herself. “There’s nothing to see besides my typing. It’s hardly entertaining.”

“I don’t need ‘entertainment’, Moira. Perhaps I’m simply here for knowledge’s sake.”

“As if.” Despite her tone, Moira said nothing to dissuade Reaper further, and as Reaper settled against the table, he watched Moira as she began to flit from terminal to terminal. As minutes passed, Moira began to offer occasional commentary, noting her steps as she began a new experiment, adjusted the controls on a current process, or checked the results of previous work. As she had warned, it wasn’t necessarily entertaining—but Reaper found himself enjoying the experience all the same.

Even if Moira claimed not to enjoy the company, perhaps Reaper could schedule more time to learn more about her work, just for the sake of it.


End file.
